


Reading between the lines

by LostinFic



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexy times in a library. That's about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reading between the lines

David remembers when he was a panelist on QI a few years back, they’d mentioned a sort of fungi that grows in books and that has hallucinogenic properties.

It certainly would explain what happened on Sunday afternoon.

After all, it’s definitely not what he had in mind when he mentioned the Story Time activity at the London public library to Billie. Except, they always did have a roundabout way of letting the other know where they would be. Almost like a language of their own. Mundane words their minds reshape into invitations and longing encrypted in idle chat.

“The storyteller is really into it, the kids love him. And you get about an hour to yourself, to read or …”

“Sounds nice, maybe I’ll go with my son,” she’d replied and in his head he heard “I miss you”.

 

Of course, they never can be quite sure the message did get across. So he tries not to get his hopes up. He tells himself she will most likely not be there, after all it’s a surprisingly sunny day for London, families will go to the park, but he wears that soft blue shirt she said she liked, just on the off chance. He drives to St. James Square with flutters in the pit of his stomach. He pushes the heavy door and crosses the hall, his excited son bouncing one step ahead of him. He finds her immediately, his head turning in her direction, like the needle of a compass. His heart skips a beat when he recognizes that no-nonsense bun on top of her head and her face, half-buried in the red scarf he bought in Italy. She walks up to him with a playful skip in her steps and her smiling eyes tell him everything he needs to know.

“Hey Dave.”

“Hi Bills. How are you?”

“Great,” because you’re there is implied.

Once the children are settled with the rest of the group in the Kids room, they make their way through the dark wood tables to the rows of bookcases, their steps hushed by the thick, red carpet. The thing with libraries is that you have to stay quiet, it’s not the best place for a chat. They could go to the park across the street but then they wouldn’t have to whisper in each other’s ears. They walk closely between the books, Billie’s breath tickling his neck and the breeze of her dress on the back of his hand. The peculiar stale smell of paper and ink mixes with the hint of orange blossom on her skin.

There’s a familiar electricity in his limbs, an itch to touch her, to mark her, that is both alarming and exciting. And they really shouldn’t, not with the kids there, not in a public place. But when they meet, their own rules turn into dares. Taunting them, challenging them, to cross one more line.

They give in between Beaudelaire and Byron, that first stolen kiss summing up the millions of verse lined up on the shelves around them. And the feel of her lips, moving against his, temporarily soothes his yearning.

He tries his hardest to suppress a smile as they emerge into an open space. He guides her up the stairs and behind another shelf. He pretends to read over her shoulder and she tilts her head just so, a gesture he translates as an offering. The tip of his nose grazes the apple of her cheek, he feels it rising as she smiles and turns. Their lips reunite in a brief exchange of breath and a swift caress of tongues. A tantalizing preview. A promise.

More books speaking of human passions and torments, then encyclopedias holding all the knowledge in the world but not a clue about this thing between them. They find themselves in a secluded corner and, as soon as they’re alone, she’s kissing him. This time it lingers on as her hands slip under his shirt, seeking more contact. Her nails skim across the skin just above the waistband of his jeans and David holds her tighter, the rest of the world easily forgotten as their kiss builds up. When he groans, she slips out of his grasps and winks, with a tongue touched smile she walks backwards for a few seconds before disappearing around the corner.

He follows her, up another flight of stairs and down another row of shelves, her fingers caressing the spine of books as she walks aimlessly. He remains one step behind, admiring the sway of her dress across the back her knees. Their feet take them to the furthest corner of the library, the ceiling low above their heads and the bright sunshine, coming in through the arched windows, slips between the stacks of books to paint her skin with gold.

When she stops, his arms wrap around her waist, fitting his torso to her back.

“I didn’t know there was an anatomy section,” she comments casually.

It’s code for “I want you”.

He looks above her shoulder at his watch.

“Half an hour left.”

The next second, Billie is turning around in his arms, bringing his mouth to hers with her fingers delving in his hair. She kisses him with an urgency that wasn’t there before, transmitting her desire.

Her essence makes him lightheaded, impulsive, reckless. With a firm grasp on her waist, he guides her to the nearest bookcase, pinning her there, hiding them. He removes her scarf, the silk slowly unraveling around her neck like the ribbon around a present and he bends down to explore the warm skin with his lips. His tongue trails along her jugular as his hands travel to her front. Unbuttoning just enough of her dress to slip in one hand, he eagerly reaches for her breast.

“Impatient, are we?” she teases but her voice falters when he slips under the lace of her bra.

He sighs in the crook of her neck when he feels the soft mound and the nipple hardening in the center of his palm. He continues his ministrations, wasting no time, finding the spots that make her soar, where his teeth have left secret bookmarks.

Her fingers trail down his stomach and hesitate on his belt buckle. He bucks his hips and it’s all the encouragement she needs. Hands slip in underwears, stroking hard flesh and exploring wet folds, the intimate noises loud in the silent library. He drops his forehead to hers, their breaths and strangled moans mingling between them. 

When it’s not enough, there’s fumbling and adjusting that makes them sweat and groan in frustration.

“This is such a bad idea,” he whispers.

She laughs and it’s lovely and she’s so beautiful, he captures her mouth, swallowing her melodic giggles, taking in some of her beauty. And finally, naturally, they find balance with her left leg hooked over his forearm, and he slides in her. Her laughter turns into moans she conceals in his shirt and he bites her shoulder to stifle his own. They move their hips with practiced ease, his thrust calling hers. Their fingers intertwine, holding on tight as their rhythm increases, in a desperate attempt to hasten their release.

“Fuck, Bills,” a few words, whispered in her hair, filled with the transient bliss of being hers.

Her fingers dig in his flesh and he knows what she’s asking, a quick shift in their position and a hand slipped between them, a crescendo of moans and she’s shaking against him. His own climax follows, a gratifying surrender to her power over him. Their encounter reaches its denouement as they slide to the floor in a tight embrace.


End file.
